Behind the Trigger, My Lover, He Stands
by WhoCaresAboutPeopleBooksExist
Summary: She was a loner with two friends to her name. Then Dean Forester bumped the number to three, then one, then none. When Rory's left for dead, a bullet stuck in her soul, who will save her? AU/OOC *A/N with information inside*
1. Prologue

**Summary:** _ She was a loner with two friends to her name. Then Dean Forester bumped the number to three, then one, then none. When Rory's left for dead, a bullet stuck in her soul, who will save her?_

***_Read A/N at bottom_**_** please!***_

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><p><strong><span>Prologue: His Voice Was Like Glue<span>**

His voice was like glue. My-stones-have-not-dropped-yet glue. Fifteen-year-old glue. And I was like a piece of papier-mâché: thin and easily manipulated. I stuck to him, swaddled in the sticky substance that was his talk. He spoke so eloquently, filling my head with ringings of politics and music, and I couldn't stop. There was nothing I could do, I was merely fourteen, barely a girl, far away from womanhood. I had fooled myself into believing I was smarter than I was, that I knew too much. Naivety followed me around when I was with him, inching closer and closer to the surface, daring to dip its toes in my mind, to swindle me, fiddle my brain and help me lose sight of all those things I _swore_ I knew.

It was summer camp, that's where I met him. Isn't it always summer camp? That place young girls go to escape their innocent ways and where boys, boys convinced they're men, go to steal, to corrupt. Where you laze by the lake in heated afternoons, swallowed whole by the sun, skin so pale that when you stare your eyes threaten to melt at the sight of your own flesh. Where friends you insisted you knew, insisted knew you, were lost forever, drowned by a sea of friendship bracelets and nail polish.

We were at an amusement park. All of us. The entire group was separated into several smaller groups, like wolves torn apart from their pack in search of food, so we would never get lost. And then I got lost. I broke a rule of the amusement park, I went where I was not supposed to go. I went to the land of "lost girls." They found me and fed me and clothed me, but they didn't speak to me. They left me do die in the outskirts of the herd where anything could come and swallow me up. The ground, the sky, _him._

Fast. That's what it was. All of it was fastfastfast. We sped down the slides, splashed in the water, the dirt, the muddy concoction of rain and mulch. We did it again and again and again until our bodies were caked in dry sludge; old sludge new sludge future sludge.

He stole from me. Stole from me like young boys do at summer camp. My innocence, my girly fantasies, squashed by his clenched fist.

And I never got clean, not fully.

He wiped himself of me, of our history, our life, my life, quicker than he got dirty. Like I was a poison on his skin that needed scraping off. The stinger attached to a bee that left its prick sticking out of his arm, his brain, his eyes. That's what I was to him. I was poison. Deadly, corrosive, filth.

Warnings flashed around me, filling the edge of my vision with their neon signs, their off-putting words. People didn't know me. They couldn't lecture me. I would smile and nod my head politely, tell them that I was fine, we were fine, everything was finefinefine.

Then, as fast as it was fine, it wasn't. It wasn't finefinefine. _I_ wasn't finefinefine. So, I hid. I hid away from everyone. From the flashing lights, the loud voices that were more like acid than glue, the eyes that watched and pretended to know when _they did not know_ and _would never know_.

Then I became smart. About everything. I was no longer a fool. I was alone, and lonely people are not fools. They are not fools because no one is there to test them, to trick them. A liar can never lie if he does not open his mouth and a fool is not a fool if they never do anything. If they never see anyone. If they never talk to anyone about anything other than the weather and how lovely it is that you got engaged, and yes, I did go there this summer, and no, I have no idea where that person is.

Then they stopped asking. They stopped expecting me to talk. And I found myself as the black sheep. The outsider. The true outsider who stalked the window ledges, peering into the world that would never become my own, watching as the other "outsiders" talked amongst themselves while I stayed on the fringe of suburbia, not even feeling the wind as it whipped me like a willow switch or the rain as it hammered against my head, my skin, my pain.

I began to wonder if I would be like this forever. If there would never be anything to make me well. Because _I was unwell_. No matter how many times I denied it, _I was sick_. Something was wrong. But who could I tell? _Who would care?_

They say that good things come to those who wait, but I was not waiting. I was in a bookshop, alone, listening to the words bounce off the pages I was skimming, my eyes dancing like a hummingbird's wings. I was content then, convinced my life had been lived before I turned seventeen. Fooled into believing I was worse than Tom Buchanan.

He tapped my shoulder, clearing his throat. I turned my head and wanted to cry. The sudden overwhelming emotion leaked everywhere, sinking me into oblivion, and left me unable to speak. I stared at him: wondering, asking him a thousand questions in my head, but not speaking even one. He stared at me too, just watching me, waiting for me to do something.

So, I took a breath, a deep one that made stars blink on his skin, made soft down feathers cushion my brain, and smiled.

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><p><strong>AN:** I am going to scare so many of you away with this, but please give it a chance! For me?

But Only For You is almost done and with its death comes the life of a new story. A real story. I'm going to tell you something, okay? This is based on some things that happened to me from ages 14-15 1/2. Some events will be exaggerated and others so underdone that you'll wonder if it was just a whisper blowing past your ear and not the words I wrote. You'll never know which are which.

So, something you might want to know if you decide to read this, Dean is a bad guy. I am telling you this now. Logan will come in later and he will be Rory's white knight, something I never got. But it's not a fairytale. It's real life. It's a sort of warning: never think you're smarter than you are, don't pretend to know things you don't, and don't ever, ever change yourself for a guy. It's not worth it. At all.

This is an AU story and the people are OOC. Are you willing to take a chance on me?

Some things to know:

1. Rory, Lane, and Paris are 14, Dean is 15, Logan is 16.  
>2. Lorelai and Luke will appear, as will Stars Hollow (Except Stars Hollow is now in Northern Virginia, just below DC. I went to London a lot with my pal, so they'll head to DC instead.)<br>3. There will be mature themes that come later on in the story and may be considered triggers.  
>4. There is no schedule. It will come when I am ready. This is bringing back memories that I've buried deep down, so it's going to take some push.<br>5. I am getting influence from Laurie Halse Anderson's writing, so it's going to be a bit weird and choppy, but that's how she writes. Also, future chapters will not be so over the place. They will have structure and plot. This is the prologue, where you get a glimpse as to what the story's about.  
>6. This is still Gilmore Girls FanFiction. Just because it's based on a tidbit from my life doesn't mean we'll be losing sight of the show.<br>7. Logan and Rory are endgame. Always.

**Please give this tale a chance. If you want more, the only way to let me know is to tell me.**

Yours until the end of time,

(insert name here)


	2. Texting in the Fast Lane

_***A/N at bottom***_

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><p><strong>"I keep telling myself, I keep telling myself<strong>

**I'm not the desperate type."**

**7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen) | Fall Out Boy**

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Texting in the Fast Lane<strong>

Summer camp was my mother's idea. Lorelai said I had to go, to make friends, make memories. It was only a week. I could handle that. Six days and a trip to Six Flags.

I didn't want to go. My body told every fiber in me that going would be bad. I was scared to go, scared to let myself be seen by these people. Everyone was talking about going to this particular summer camp the last day of school.

They wanted to be awakened. Sexually, mind-blowingly awakened. And I watched them all disappear out the school doors, friends and friends and friends talking, kissing, loving, hating. Chewing each other apart with smiles that showed too much teeth, too much jealousy.

It was like watching men with knives dancing around each other. No one wanted to die, no one wanted to kill, but their switchblades were out, glinting and sharp. They had to do it, they had to destroy because when you're young and foolish, all that matters is destroying.

Destroydestroydestroy. That's all we did. That's all he did to me.

O-O-O

When I met him, I was soaking wet from the lazy river. Water was dripping down my body and hitting the heated concrete, sizzling and melting away into the cracks. Lane and Paris had abandoned me, citing the need to go on a roller coaster. I hated roller coasters.

The sun was fading fast, setting off pink bombs of smoke in the sky. I watched as they exploded and spread out in puffs, lining people's heads and making them almost beautiful. Almost.

The leader of the group said it was lucky I walked by them, that it was them I found. I was let into the group as a tagalong. I smiled shyly and wrung my hands together, tilting forward and back on my heels, blisters popping against my sneakers. My belly was twisted from nerves and the sick feeling that I should not be there.

I rotated my head every now and again, trying to get a good look at the group I had stumbled into. No one was looking at me, talking to me, but I didn't mind. No one ever talked to me except Lane and Paris, and they were on a roller coaster.

To all of them, I was just a shadow. Something to be afraid of, to step around. Something that haunted them, breathed down their necks, reminding them I existed even if they didn't acknowledge me. It was pathetic. They were pathetic, looking at me, looking through me.

When he broke away, I pretended not to notice. I twisted my head the other way and tried not to throw up. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his friend, tallish and blonde, with a gaping mouth. He looked like someone just stabbed him with their switchblade. Like someone had destroyed him.

He reached me finally, saying an awkward 'hi.'

I looked at him incredulously for a moment, scanning him up and down carefully. He was tall. His hair shagged a bit over his ears, parted down the middle. It was brown, like mine.

Lanky. That's what he was. Lanky and pale, with a mole on his cheek.

My voice came out slow and weak, like I hand't used it in a long time. "Hi."

"I don't really like roller coasters," he said loudly, his eyes flitting to our surroundings. He was nervous. I didn't know why.

"Why?" I asked. Then I winced. I wasn't supposed to be nosy. It was a bad thing to be. It got people talking, thinking they could open up to you. I wasn't a shrink.

He smiled, showing off teeth. They were straight, like he had just gotten his braces off, but there was a crooked one. A mar of imperfection on a seemingly perfect face. "I've got a heart condition. It could kill me if I went on one of those things." He pointed around us. He looked too happy about having a heart condition.

I didn't know how to respond to that. He had shared something personal. "Oh," I said lamely, watching the dirty water drip down my legs and feeling a tightening in my stomach.

"Yeah." He said, rubbing the back of his neck like he wished he hand't come over.

"You can go back to your friends," I told him, my eyes darting back to where the blonde was still staring, mouth open, drool almost spilling out.

"Nah, they're getting boring. I wanted to know what you were doing hanging back." He tilted his head to the side as if he was trying to see something that wasn't there. His eyes squinted, darkening the iris'.

I folded my arms across my chest, feeling my heart thump thump thump. "I'm not good company."

He smiled again, not as wide, not reaching his eyes like it could do. "How about I find that out for myself." It wasn't a question. He wasn't going to leave me alone. I didn't want him to. And that pained me to admit. Sometime's The Police lie.

"Okay." I turned my head away, his eyes beginning to be too much to take in. They were studying me, I could feel it like pinpricks on my neck, my chest, my legs. He was going up and down and up and down, getting ready to paint me onto a large easel, find every imperfection on me. There were plenty.

My mother used to tell me I was perfect. I was her perfect girl.

I wasn't.

I was the product of two stupid teenagers who didn't know what love was. Didn't know what devotion or care was.

And she never understood why I grew up hating my teenage years, dreading them. I didn't want to be like her or dad. I wanted to be quiet, hide away like a ghost. Boys, they literally terrified me. People, they made me want to throw up.

Why was he talking to me?

"You like music?" He asked suddenly, drawing me away from whatever I was looking at. His eyebrows were furrowed, like this wasn't just a question to pass the time, because he didn't have to be there talking to me at all, but he actually wanted to know if I liked music.

I mulled over an answer for a moment, trying to find the right words. "Yes." I said simply, nodding my head in one slow swoop. He smiled again. I felt my stomach flip.

"Okay, what type?"

My mind started filing through all the music I listened to. It was considered bad taste and untrue to claim you liked all music, but I liked all music I could get my hands on. Or at least, I appreciated it all.

"Most types," I said.

He laughed, a disgusting sound that pulled my stomach even tighter. "Do you have a favourite band?"

"No." I said firmly. He eyed me expectantly. "Do you?" I asked in return, hopefully satisfying the guy's clear need for stimulating conversation.

"Mm, Rush."

I had never heard of them. I just nodded my head and tried to smile against the blazing sun.

"Do you like Rush?" His voice curved upward in question as the sun began its decent down down down.

Before I could reply 'no,' we were being told that it was dinner time. I smiled shyly at the guy, whose name I did not yet know, and waited for him to start walking before taking up step behind the entire group.

Everyone was in the little diner, sitting at round tables like King Arthur and his knights. Lane and Paris were surrounded by boys and girls I didn't know the names of and there didn't appear to be any more room in the tight spaces between boy/girl flesh.

I was about to sit down, alone, like always, but a voice caught my attention. "Sit with us," it said lightly, as if asking me, ME, to sit with anyone was normal.

I turned slowly, shrugging my shoulders nonchalantly despite the ringing of my heart. "Thanks," I mumbled when I sat down. He had an earphone in one ear and was chatting idly to the boy with sandy blonde hair who didn't look my way. I moved my head to watch the world outside the window as it faded with the sun. People held their kids by the hands, hair, shirts, pulling them along with angry huffs. I could see the redness pouring off their bodies, they were fire in the dying night.

"Rory, why didn't you go on any roller coasters?" My name. He said my name. How did he know my name?

I faced him, but refused to look him in the eye. They were boring into me, green orbs trying to read my soul.

My voice shook when I answered, a nervous twitch I had grown accustomed to in my short lifetime, "I, uh, don't like them. They're high."

His lips pulled apart almost painfully into a dazzling smile. "You don't strike me as one who's afraid of heights."

He said it like he knew everything about me. Like this wasn't the first time we were speaking to each other. It gnawed at me, his tone. "It's not the height," I said. "It's the safety."

Which was true. I had a stupid fear of dying; roller coasters seemed like a good one way ticket to death, no matter how slim the chances.

The boy smiled a knowing smile. "Ah." He clasped his hands together on the table and turned his entire body toward mine like he was getting ready to interview me. Maybe he was getting ready to interview me. "Dean, Dean Forester." His hand shot out and I flinched away instinctively. I blinked at the outstretched limb and cautiously took it.

There was no spark; no glimmer of satisfaction from the contact of flesh. His hand bit like dominance and he shook three times before releasing. My hand was slightly red, but I didn't bother rubbing it better. I liked the pain.

"Nice to meet you, Dean," I said, knowing that's what you're supposed to say even if it wasn't all that 'nice' to meet this guy. Humans and their never-ending lies. 'It's rude to say that, say this instead, even if you don't mean it.' 'Who wants to be told the truth? It only hurts you more in the long run.' Lie lie lie lie. It's all we're good for. Lying, destroying.

"Where are my manners?" He interrupted my thoughts by slamming his fist on the table. I flinched from that as well. "This is my friend," he gestured to the boy with sandy hair sitting next to him on the other side. He looked angry at me. "Logan, Rory. Rory, Logan."

The guy, Logan, nodded his head once in my direction before turning back around. He started talking to someone else. I could hear bits of their conversation. Video games, cars, boring stuff. Nothing about me. Good.

"He doesn't talk much. To people who aren't rich that is. I'm an exception. I've known him since we were babies." Dean laughed at his own joke. It didn't sound like much of a joke.

I smiled, fighting down the warm feeling bubbling in my tummy. "That's nice that you've known him for so long. It's like that with me and Lane," I said, testing the waters of opening up. I had to be careful not to drown completely. But I was so lonely even if I couldn't admit it to myself and when I got the opportunity, the chance, to tell someone all these things about me, I took it. I plunged myself deep into his skin and it didn't strike me as a bad thing. It felt good, one person being on my side. And it's like they say, it's easier to spill your secrets to a stranger.

"Why aren't you sitting with her?" He asked, looking back at the golden glory that was Lane.

I coughed into my hand and said the first thing that came to my mind. "Sometimes she doesn't like me."

Dean frowned a little. "That's not good. Why are you friends?"

I wanted to be angry at him, and a little bit of me went defensive, but I didn't say anything other than, "just because. She's good most of the time. It's summer camp, though. I'm giving her a pass."

"Understandable, I guess. So, tell me, why haven't you accepted my Facebook friend request yet?"

Facebook. That damn website that had just started to blow up.

My mind raced to figure out what he was talking about. People "requested" my "friendship" all the time on there, more for their benefit of having more friends on their list than actually wanting my friendship, and I breezed by them without a second thought. If I didn't know them, which was most likely the case, I wouldn't accept.

Friends weren't born on the internet.

"I-I didn't know you'd sent me anything," I said finally, squinting as I tried to remember seeing 'Dean Forester' in any of my emails.

He smirked and I frowned. "I didn't put Dean Forester as my name. That's probably it." He was still smirking.

"What did you put if it wasn't Dean Forester?" I asked.

"A nickname. Everyone calls me Ducky."

I remembered then. A picture of a duck, the swift click of 'deny' as I didn't give the name another glance. "Oh, well, request me again and maybe I'll say yes this time."

Was I flirting? His smirk grew and his eyebrow raised provocatively. I had just flirted.

I didn't eat anything for dinner that night. Whether it was the tightness of my stomach or the fact that food never interested me very much, I couldn't tell.

Dean offered me food, but I didn't take any. He said he thought I'd just said no to make it look like I wasn't fat, to please the males around me because they like skinny girls and skinny girls liked them. He said he thought I'd steal a few fries off his plate like girls do when they say they don't want the extra calories.

I just smiled because this was the first time a guy had ever willingly talked to me for more than an hour, but I made it a point to not take any food for the rest of the night.

When we left the amusement park, Lane, Paris, and I all together again, I was feeling elated. I had spoken to someone and not vomited. He showed me music, Rush and Porcupine Tree and Dire Straits. I bobbed my head along to the songs, not telling him that I didn't like Rush.

**-First Lie-**

Before I left camp the next day, the last day when all we did was laze and pack haphazardly, Dean Forester knocked on our door. He wasn't supposed to be back there. It was the girls' dorm.

I didn't ask how he found where I was or why he was there. He slipped me a piece of paper and said "Phone." Blinking rapidly, hoping to wake up from whatever dreamnightmare I had walked into, I grabbed my spare pack of sticky notes and scribbled my number on it, handing it back to him. He grinned and walked away without saying another word.

Lane and Paris all made weird noises meant to deter me, but I stood at the door, ignoring them and thinking about how weirdly good all this attention felt.

There was a nagging thought.

_Fast. _It said. Just. . ._fast_.

O-O-O

Lorelai picked me up and didn't say anything but hello. That's how we greeted each other when I was a teenager. Her newly engaged ring finger flashed in my eyes in a gloating manner before she swept me up and drove us back home.

I spent the entire time staring at the landscapes. The green grass was lush and you couldn't go two seconds without seeing a horse. They galloped freely in their respective fields, manes flying and neighs falling on deaf ears.

Happy. That's what they looked like to me. Some nuzzled together, noses inches from touching, ears flicking and tails swishing at flies.

Horses are better than humans. Animals are better than humans. They don't test your loyalty, your love. They accept it. And they give it without any ulterior motive. It's just there.

When I used to see a dog cowering in fear of its owner, it was the owner, the human, that provoked the reaction. Horses, dogs, cats, they all want affection. And unlike humans, they try to earn it.

I think that's why Lorelai refused to ever let me have an animal to call my own. It would have treated me well and she couldn't have that. She perpetually punished me for not being like her. For not being open and friendly.

In my younger years, my mother and father were pinned together like the same ends of a magnet. The world, all the sciences, told them they were wrong. They repelled each other. Each time they got close, something would shoot them apart. But it was as if a child, one who didn't understand the workings of magnets, continuously pushed them together, trying and failing to force them to touch, to connect, to stay. . .just stay.

Eventually they flew apart, both landing on different sets of metal and staying stuck.

Mothers often forget that their children aren't young. Our minds see the world through new eyes every day, but when you're older and the colours seem duller you convince yourself that you are smarter, that you know better. My mother spared no expense in telling me how wrong I was. How foolish and naïve I was.

I couldn't very well tell her that thanks to her and dad I already knew more about the world than my entire school combined.

I knew that sex was bad. I knew that people were awful. She was content to just stare at me and berate me, though, for not having friends and not going to parties. "If you're going to be a journalist," she would say, "you'll need to get off your ass and live because how can you expect to write about other peoples lives when you don't even know what it feels like to go outside." Then she'd take a breath and force a smile.

I wouldn't even try to smile back.

When Lorelai looked at me on this particular drive, when I could feel the beginnings of a talk coming on, I shoved my earbuds in my head, close enough to my brain to make me buzz, and pressed play on my iPod. I allowed the drowning sound of The Killers to tear my thoughts away from Lorelai. From Dean.

My head smacked the door and I opened my eyes, realising with a groan that I'd fallen asleep. Music was no longer playing in my head and I looked around. Lorelai was sitting next to me and we were just entering the town of Stars Hollow.

This place was small. It had a number of residents, but like all small towns everyone knew everyone. And everything about everyone.

We made it to our house and I slumped out the car with my buds still hanging in my head, making my way to the boot and opening it in my sleepy daze. My duffle bag wasn't heavy and I flung it over my shoulder, narrowly avoiding smacking Lorelai in the face.

"Watch it," she warned, pointing a finger at my nose. Her blue eyes mirrored mine so perfectly, but while mine are generally filled with fear, her's are dangerous and spiked with ice.

I didn't say anything back, a biting comment was somewhere on my tongue, but I would've rather not be grounded just before school started up again. She stepped in the house before me and I heard Luke's gravely voice echo outside. I smiled despite my horrid resentment and went inside to greet him as well. He pulled me into a hug quick and planted a sloppy kiss to my forehead.

"Missed you, kid," he grumbled, ruffling my boring hair out of place. I giggled against his chest and wanted so badly to chastise myself, but his grip was warm and strong and I didn't feel out of place all of a sudden. I felt like I was home.

My mother's voice sounded through the hall, "Rory, put your things away. We're having dinner with your grandparents tonight."

I retreated from Luke's hug and ugly-open-mouthed stared at him. He shrugged. "It's about school next year." Was all he said, winking and turning away to the kitchen where no doubt there was some appliance that had broken.

My curiosity got the best of me and I tapped Lorelai's shoulder. "Why are we going to grandma and grandpa's? I haven't seen them in years."

Lorelai jumped and her body moved slowly towards mine. She had an offhand smile playing at the corners of her mouth, something usually reserved for good days. Today did not seem like a good day for Lorelai, but there she was, smiling. She reached out for something on the table by the door. An envelope, thick and crisp.

"It's a letter from Chilton." Her words dripped lazily, but there was a hint of pride in there somewhere. The envelope was unopened and she handed it to me, her fingers releasing the warm paper to me.

A powerful wave of nerves washed over me, soaking into my skin and writhing in my veins like blood. "Do you want me to open it?" I asked. Lorelai laughed, a sweet sound that was almost lost to me in my daze.

"Of course. It's your achievement." I didn't miss the surety of my acceptance in her inflection. Any daughter of hers was going to get into Chilton Prep. There was no room for doubt.

With quaking hands that were doused in sweat, I tore at the envelope meticulously, loving the sound as the creamy paper ripped in my fingers. Eyeing my mother and Luke, who had just entered the room, I pulled out the folded up letter.

Lorelai gasped, Luke winked again, and I wanted to pass out. It was a yes. I had been accepted. They, Chilton Preparatory School, wanted me to be there next year.

"Mom," I said in a shaky voice. It came out as more of a question.

Lorelai nodded her head and grabbed my hand briefly before turning and kissing Luke on his scruffy cheek. They nuzzled like that a lot and I can't say I minded it. When Lorelai wasn't paying attention to me and my failures, she was paying attention to Luke and all his wonderfulness. It made my life easier.

"Go get dressed. We'll be leaving for your grandparents in five minutes," Lorelai ordered. I left with the letter still in hand and had made it halfway down the hall before I heard my mother call out again, "Oh, and darling," I keeled back to mildly glare at her. "Do try to look nice tonight." Her hand moved up and shooed me away. I took the opportunity to return to my bedroom and flung myself on the bed for a moment, letting all of this information sink into my head.

Lorelai got pregnant at sixteen. She was the epitome of ruined and rebellious. Grandfather and Grandmother despised her and that only caused her to rebel more. The final straw was me. When my mother told them she had a baby in her belly, they freaked. They had this plan for her: go to an ivy league school, graduate top of your class, enter into business, be a stay at home wife and go to balls and charity events, sit by the fire while your husband does the work, be boring, lazy, and entitled. Of course, Lorelai didn't want that. She wanted to be herself. And she didn't know who that was, still doesn't know who that is.

I can only imagine why we're going tonight. To beg for money?

I stood up and pulled all my clothes off, getting a look at my just barely pubescent body. The small curves of my breasts had just recently been deemed worthy of a bra and I itched under the fabric, scratching at the irritated skin. The light pink hue of the "sexy" garment contrasted heavily against my paler than ghost white skin and I grazed my thumb along my protruding ribcage. My bones stuck out, the skin stretched over my body dangerously thin.

If you were to ask me now why I tortured myself the way I did when I was a teenager, I would tell you it was because of my parents. Nobody loved me and it tore me to pieces, made me sick to my stomach. But in reality, it was no one's fault but my own. But then I was too focused on telling everyone I was fine. And I was fine.

I was fine.

Lorelai had placed my fanciest clothes out on my bed, a light blue satin dress that cut off just before my knees. It was a strap-y dress, thin, spaghetti-like wires of cloth dug into my shoulders supposedly to make me look less of a whore and more like a sophisticated somebody. When I slid into it, I noticed how loose it hung on my frame. Grandma liked a good meal, it'd be difficult to hide being small in there when her eyes were like a magnifying glass.

Staring at myself in the mirror only made myself hate the reflection even more, so I stopped. I turned around and found a book to read. _My Darling Villain_ was a book not sold in America, but my father had picked it up for me on one of his trips to England in an old second-hand bookshop. It was my favourite at the time. So I read through it until Luke knocked on my door and swished me off to my Grandparents house.

O-O-O

The Beatles taught me that all you need is love. And as cliché as that is, I believed them. I believed them because when I was a teenager, I didn't have love. And I was broken. And I thought that maybe it was because no one loved me. Truly, truly loved me.

My grandparents gave us sideways looks when we got there. Luke had never been a favourite, I had always been a favourite, Lorelai used to be a favourite. Grandma took our coats and flung them to some maid and I felt like I'd entered some movie where servants actually wore French maid costumes. Grandpa hugged me, but no one else. It was so bone-crushingly hard that I felt maybe I'd collapse in his arms, but he let go before I started seeing stars.

Grandma gave a quick tour of our immediate surroundings as if Lorelai had never lived there, brushing over the wonderful woodworks and antiques, eyeing Luke like he was a thief there to steal everything. I stifled a laugh throughout that entire ordeal.

When we got to the dining room, with everything set up like some magnificent ballroom, Grandma ordered us to sit down. Lorelai and Luke sat next to each other, their hands immediately gripping under the table, and I sat across from them with Grandpa and Grandma at either head of the gigantic table. A shining chandelier hung above our heads, just waiting to collapse and trap us all in shards of glass and electric light. It reminded me of The Phantom of the Opera.

Everyone was silent as the food was served. Grandpa asked about drinks and Luke and Lorelai agreed to share a gin and tonic, but no one else spoke. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, my bony ass squishing against the wooden structure terribly painfully. I was worried for a moment that my bones might actually break through my skin with all the sliding.

Luke and Lorelai kept glancing at each other from the corner of their eyes, talking without using words like all "connected" people do. Grandpa and Grandma kept doing it too. I felt alone all over again.

The food smelled sickeningly good. Roast beef, carrots, broccoli, and Yorkshire pudding. Gravy slathered around, drowning the poor food in its greasy digustingness.

They dig in. All of them. Savages, just tearing at red meat, bloody gristle dripping down their chins as their teeth shine in anger, pent up stuff from years of neglect, war, loathing. It was all being ripped to shreds.

I looked away because the sight made me want to vomit.

The fork I held in my hand moved over the food idly in an attempt to distract myself from how good it smelled. And if I thought hard enough, the smell would prove to be too much of an instigator. Forcing my head away from the food on my own plate, I eyed everyone else still swallowing their beef whole.

Mom dipped her Yorkshire pudding in some gravy, slopping it up, pressing it down. She picked it up with her fingers and I watched it slide down her throat in a gulp, she lapped at the remnants of drippy food on her fingertips with her tongue like a dog begging, yearning for more food, doing anything to find some.

Grandpa was staring at me. He always knew. Always. No one else did, but he did. On impulse, because sometimes my trained brain lapsed, I looked back at him, flicking my eyes up for just a moment and catching his. I regretted it instantly. There was pain in his gaze. He looked at me like I was a lost puppy dog that needed rescuing.

He cleared his throat and began speaking. "So, Lorelai. Let's talk business." He said calmly, carefully lifting a single carrot to his lips and chewing slowly before swallowing it down. His Adam's apple bobbed in appreciation.

Lorelai put her fork down and placed her elbows on the table. I heard Grandma's audible gasp as good as the rest of the people. I sniggered, but that just brought on more fumes from the food, so I stopped right away.

"Right, Dad, let's. Rory has been accepted into Chilton and I unfortunately need money to send her."

Simple. Precise. Down to the point. No dillydallying around. That was my mother. Never wanting to work too hard to get what she wanted.

"Unfortunately? That's a big word, Lorelai. Be careful how you use it. We'd be happy to help." Grandmother's chilly tone sent a shiver down my spine.

Mom choked on her gin and tonic, Luke slapped her back, Grandpa laughed, Grandma sighed, I tried to not throw up.

I tuned out after that, focusing on the gnawing sensation scraping at my belly. I wanted to hold my stomach, but it would draw too much attention. Instead I gently put my wrists on the edge of the table and press down down down. Further and further the wood penetrated my skin, eventually slipping beneath the top surface and sending shoots of painful pleasure. The wolves stopped howling in my stomach and I retracted my wrists, carefully running my thumbs over the damage to erase any evidence.

You have to understand, a teenager always thinks the world is coming to an end. Whether or not they realise that this is how all teenagers thinks is a moot point. Every problem is life threatening and every situation is worse than the one before. It's entirely selfish, I assure you. No matter what, the world is always ending. They are always two steps away from being blown up.

It was settled at the end, after shouting and throwing and hissing. Money for school in exchange for dinner once a week (Friday, because I had no life and Friday seemed like a good day to waste) at Grandparents house.

Luke soothed Lorelai on the way home, holding her hand as he drove us all back through D.C. and back into Virginia. I watched the waters when we passed over the bridges. The waves sparkled with headlights and street lamps. They shone with manmade glory. And for just a few seconds, I forgot how cruel the world was.

When we arrived back in Stars Hollow, all the people were asleep. It was nearing autumn and the townspeople were afraid of the chilled darkness. Afraid of being caught by the shadows. By me.

I mumbled goodnight and thank you to Lorelai and sauntered to my bedroom, picking up my book while stripping off all my disgusting clothes. I flung the garment somewhere, I can't remember where. It laid there for a long time after that night.

I felt ugly in it. It made me look fatter than I was. The fabric itched at my skeleton like it was laughing at me.

Hopping on my bed in just my underwear, I read and read and read until I was too tired to see straight. To see the words, to read Lynne Reid Banks' remarkable story.

My eyes closed for an instant. Just an instant. And then it happened. I started drowning. That was when I began my downward spiral into nothingness. Right then.

It was a buzz that started it all.

No, it wasn't. It was a flirtatious smile and a willingness to be something other than me.

But I'll always blame it on the buzz because that's easier than saying it was my own fault. Which, in the end, it was.

My phone buzzed. And then it buzzed again. Two buzzes. Like two warning shots.

I groaned and got out of bed, plopping the book down on the covers and walking against August air to the devise. The demon.

_One New Message _flashed over and over until I flipped it open.

With my heart in my throat, I clicked the "READ" button:

_What did you say your favourite band was again?_

_It's Dean, by the way._

It's Dean. Dean Forester. Tall, lanky, mole on his cheek. Green eyes, talked to me. Was nice to me.

Look past his flaw, Rory. Look past it. Answer it, answer it. Reply.

God, that voice in my head, it told me to do it.

_**Pretty sure I didn't say I had one.**_

And I hit send. I could taste my heart. It tasted like blood and poison. Like regret.

Remember before when I said that it's easier to spill your secrets to strangers than anyone else? When I said that I was lonely?

Less than thirty seconds later, my phone was buzzing again.

I giggled, elated.

_Come on, you must. Everyone has a favourite band!_

_**Not me, sorry.**_

_I don't believe you. . ._

_**Please do, I'm not a very good liar.**_

_This is a conversation over texting! There's no way for me to tell if you're a good or bad liar on here!_

_**Are you always this excited, or do you save exclamation marks just for texting?**_

_Snappy, eh. I like it. _

_**Well, you're in luck. I'm a snappy person.**_

_I can tell._

I can't tell you what got us there, to that point of no return. But it didn't take long.

I had taken to lying back down on my bed, still clad in nothing but my skimpy undergarments. Only called skimpy because I was so small that nothing fit me properly except for children's clothes.

The phone buzzed again, shining a bright light in my darkened room. I'd long forgotten about Mark and Kate, I was lost in my own fantasy.

Then he said it. He said those words: _I used to cut myself._

Shaking, I remember shaking. Not violently like when a panic attack would hit, but softly like when I knew someone was telling me a darkness inside of themselves that they couldn't contain any longer.

I shook, my fingers trembling as I typed a reply: _**Me too.**_

**-Second Lie-**

_What? _

_**Me too. . .**_

_But you're so perfect._

_**I'm so not.**_

_Well, I was depressed for a long time. Always sick. No friends, shit like that. I got a knife and sliced my back. What's your story?_

I was offended he didn't believe me. Stupid, right? I was lying to him, so why did I feel the need to defend myself.

_**Sometimes I get sad. I don't cut myself per say. I pinch mostly. Until my skin breaks and the blood bubbles. **_

**-Third Lie-**

My breath was stuck in my throat.

_Why? Why hurt yourself?_

I gave him an honest answer: _**Because it feels good.**_

_I'm sorry. _He said, like my pain was his fault.

That turned out to be our thing. Saying sorry. Then we'd get mad at each other. It was sign, but I didn't see it.

Or maybe I did. Maybe every time my phone buzzed, the flashing light was really saying "don't do it!"

Regardless, I ignored it and kept on going.

It was two hours before we said goodnight. I knew Dean Forester then. Didn't know his middle name nor his greatest fear nor his favourite book, but I knew _him. _And he knew me.

Flits of our conversation bled into my dreams.

"_You'll be tired of me in two weeks," I droned to him, standing a foot and a half shorter than him. My nose came to a couple inches above his belly button._

_He laughed. "Why do you say that?" _

"_Because we talked about everything and anything. More than you're supposed to. We're friends, Dean. You'll get tired of me. I cut myself too. I'm sorry. You're my friend. I was bullied. No one likes me. I love books." _

It all blended into one jumbled mess of words.

Two weeks, I predicted. He laughed, told me not to be silly. We'd established a lifetime of friendship in one night. There was no need to put a time stamp on it because this friendship would be forever.

And that was the beginning.

He had just started to pull me out from the quicksand.

I can still feel his rough, slimy fingers wrapped tightly around my arms.

* * *

><p><strong>"Sitting out dances on the wall,<strong>

**trying to forget everything that isn't you.**

**I'm not going home alone,**

**'cause I don't do too well on my own."**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Okay, I feel I owe you all an explanation:

There is something I find so utterly personal in regards to reading another author's stories, and yet so many people are focused on telling you those stories while completely excluding themselves from the process. While I may never tell you my age or real name, I feel there are certain things the people who read and appreciate a writer's work deserve to know. I know most people run to FanFiction to escape their mundane lives and get lost in some sappy love story, but I am trying to deal with real events here. This story has an up in the air feel to it. You just don't know. I told you before that you'll never be able to tell what's real and what's not in this story and that's true. Take what you want from it. I'm not Rory, though. And my "Dean" is not Dean. Although his name did start D and his close family called him "Ducky". Me and Rory are not the same people in or outside of this story, so please don't go making assumptions about who I am based on reading this. Besides, this was years ago. I'm definitely not the same.

So, you can tell that Rory is OOC and so is Dean and so is Lorelai and so is everyone.

The book I mentioned isn't available here, actually. It's a book from the 70's about an English upperclass girl who meets and falls in love with a working class guy who's got a Cockney accent. Beautifully written and if you like stories with double meanings, then try and find it. It's worth it. And yes, it's by the same woman who wrote _The Indian in the Cupboard. _Oh, and that song. . .just listen to it.

I hope you all enjoy this story from here on out because it kind of plunges into the deep end. It's a backwards story. We start in the darkness and make our way to the light.

Thank you to those who've liked this story so far. It truly means the world.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Until next time,

(insert name here)


	3. Meeting in Secret Places

_***A/N at bottom***_

* * *

><p><strong>"You're a canary, <strong>**I'm a coal mine.**

**'Cause sorrow is just all the rage.**

**Take one for the team,**

**you all know what I mean."**

**I've Got All This Ringing In My Ears and None On My Fingers | Fall Out Boy**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two: Meeting in Secret Places<strong>

School wasn't for another week. Seven whole days of doing nothing but sitting on my bed, reading, and waiting for Dean to text me back. Or to text me first.

Sometimes we'd stay up past midnight, which was something only my grumbling stomach could help me with in the past. Now I had someone keeping me up. It wasn't the groaning demon in my belly, it was the whining shrill of my phone.

We talked about everything.

Literally everything and anything we could get our brains to think. It was like there was no filter. And it scared me, for just a slight moment one night that whooshed away after the bling of another message being received, how quickly we were moving. I heard that word again - _fast _- rush through my ears.

But I ignored it, because I was having fun. Tummy rumbling fun that clouded my judgement. That made me blind, severely and irrevocably blind.

_We should hang out._

He said it one day, a Saturday. I had been at my desk, reading a book for my English course at Chilton. I was in a Jr. level class as a freshman. I was told people would be jealous. And that maybe the class would break me. So I just kept reading.

I told Dean about Chilton and he said it was great. There was something in the text, because we only ever texted, that made me think he wasn't all that into me going there. If I could read emotion off texts, I'd have gotten a bad feeling from that one.

_**You want to hang out with me? **_I'd asked in return, trying to get the giddy smile off my lips. It was a weird thing, a guy wanting to talk to me, to hang out with me. I'd always hated that term "hang out", but he made me not hate it so much.

_Well yeah, school's starting up and I haven't seen you since summer camp._

_**Ugh, don't remind me about summer camp.**_

_Right, sorry. What do you think?_

_**About summer camp?**_

_About hanging out with me?_

_**I don't know. My mom…**_

_Oh, hey, I could invite my friend._

_**Me?**_

_You're not my only friend._

I desperately tried not to be hurt by that.

_**I know that. Who then?**_

_That guy, Logan. You met him?_

_**The blonde that doesn't like to talk to poor people?**_

_The one and only. And you could invite Lane. Provided you're speaking to her this week._

_**Ha. I'll talk to my mom about it.**_

_Excellent. How are you?_

We asked each other this question a lot. "how are you?" I never knew why. I wanted to know he was, but a part of me didn't understand why he would want to know how I was. Stupid teenage girl, right?

I liked to pretend I lied a lot, told him I was fine when really I was depressed. That I hadn't cried that day even though I had, more than once. But then he always told me I was lying, even if I wasn't. Even if I told him the truth, that no I hadn't cried that day. He'd always say I had. So I lied.

_**Okay. Got into a fight with Lorelai.**_

Never too much information. It kept him hanging.

_What about? My day was fine, thank you very much._

He was annoyed at me. For not asking him about how he was. Even though he always said it wasn't important.

_**I was going to ask you that. You interrupted me. It was about everything. As always.**_

_Sure you were. And I'm sorry. _

_**Don't be. Not your fault.**_

_I guess not. Hey, I gotta eat. Talk to you later? _

_**Talk to you later. Bye. **_

_Bye. _

I always let him have the last word.

I sat in my room waiting for him to stop eating. Lorelai and Luke had gone out for the evening. How would I approach them about meeting up with Dean?

Mom was always telling me I needed more friends. And if he was bringing along one of his loser buddies, and if I could sweet-talk Lane into joining, maybe it would work out.

If I didn't throw up from the nerves.

I have a confession to make.

Dean was a pro at making me cry.

It happened the second day we talked. He texted me early next morning (6:53 a.m.). My belly bunched when I saw it was him. He said 'hi' and I said 'hi' back. Then he said 'goodmorning' all in one word and I ignored the spelling mistake because I liked talking to him too much to care. We started talking about movies. There was a new one coming out. Some action thing that Logan wanted to take him to. He said I should go. I said no. Then the conversation drifted to him (it used to do that in the beginning) and how depressed and messed up he was. I tried to understand. I lied and said I understood. Then I said my mom was kind of like that. He took it the wrong way. He thought I was calling him messed up. And he yelled at me (as much as a person can through text messaging) and I cowered in fear and said sorry three times while pretending he hadn't made me cry, hadn't made me wish I wasn't talking to him. Hadn't made me want him to forgive me immediately because already I was in too deep for him to thrust me away.

He was a pro at making me cry.

My phone buzzed. Mom. _have you eaten dinner yet? _

_**yes. **_I lied. God, why did I lie so much?

The minute I set my phone down, I ripped off my shirt and checked myself in the mirror. I could just barely see my ribcage. If I breathed a funny way, they would stick out more. I sucked in my stomach and it was almost like I could feel my internal organs pressing against my skin.

I didn't think about food for the rest of the evening until Dean texted me saying his mom said it was okay to meet up. He said he'd had parmesan crusted chicken.

That made me salivate and then want to throw up. But not from nerves.

_**Still have to ask my mom.**_

_Right. Where is she?_

_**Out with her fiancé. **_

_You like Luke._

_**I love Luke.**_

_But not your mom?_

_**No, I love my mom too. Sometimes.**_

_That's natural. _

_**So I hear.**_

_What about your dad? _

I stared at my phone. I hadn't told him about my dad yet.

_**What about him?**_

_Where's he in all of this?_

_**Not important.**_

_How can you say it's not important. Do you just not want to tell me?_

How could I say yes without him getting defensive and mad at me?

_**No, it's just not important. When it's important, I'll tell you.**_

_Promise?_

_**Do I promise to tell you about my father in the future? Sure.**_

_Good. _

If he were talking, I imagine he'd sound pleased with himself.

The night was uneventful. No more secrets were set forth. I stood in front of the mirror until mom and Luke got home with no shirt on, fiddling with the fat I was sure encased my bones.

Mom knocked on my door at ten o'clock (I rushed to get a heavy shirt over my exposed skin) to tell me it was bedtime. Dean had already signed off, a quick 'goodnight', an hour ago. He said something about church in the morning.

Before Lorelai left me to the abyss that was my childhood bedroom, I called out to her. She turned around slowly, lethargically, like she didn't want to at all. She smiled.

"What, sweetie?" I hated it when she called me that. She always called me that.

Suddenly, I was nervous. I couldn't think straight. What was I asking?

"I made a friend." I said lamely, looking down at the floor.

There was a smile in my mother's voice as she replied, "I know."

"And it's a guy."

"I know that too."

"You're not mad?"

"You've made a friend. Why would I be mad?"

"I didn't tell you. And it's a guy. We could be carrying on some sordid love affair behind your back."

"Pfft. You're not brave enough to do that."

I sighed and tapped my foot. "Can I hang out with him?"

Then she stopped smiling. "Why?" I think my comment about the love affair thing put her off.

"Because he's my friend."

I watched Lorelai watch me, her brow creasing exponentially as we stared at each other. Her trepidation was rippling toward me, coating me in doubt and fear. Without meaning to, and because my stomach was getting to my head I was so hungry, I stepped back.

"Lane can come too. Dean said he'd bring a friend along. It'd be a group thing." I tried not to look terrified of her, of my own mother, but she twitched her eyes and I knew she saw it all.

She stood tall, taller than me, and sighed. "Alright. Tomorrow. At Luke's diner."

Tomorrow, at Luke's diner. With Dean.

A small smile crept on my face and I was about to say thank you, about to thank my mother for being gracious and kind, but she had already walked away, slamming my door behind her.

I couldn't tell Dean now, he was asleep. Or maybe I could. Instead, I picked up my phone and dialed Lane's number.

"Hello?" She answered after only three rings. Lane and I had known each other for what felt like an eternity. Her mother came over to America from Asia just before Lane was born and moved the quiet town of Stars Hollow. She gave birth in her home with only a terrified neighbour to help her out. Lane was perfect. Always perfect. Except she wore glasses. That was her minor flaw against my one million.

My stomach felt empty and I could barely keep up with my own thoughts. I hadn't eaten anything in three days. That was new even for me.

"Hey, Lane. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with me tomorrow at Luke's?" My voice was small and quiet, barely there whispers of nothingness and hunger.

I could hear Lane thinking on the other line. She was somewhere; lying on her bed, or maybe sitting downstairs treading carefully so her overbearing mother didn't hear her. And here I was; barely able to keep myself upright.

"Uh, yeah. I think I can make that work. Just you and me?"

I hesitated for a moment, a million different things coursing through my head but only one thought really banging enough to knock me out: _pain._ "Uh, no," I said slowly, beginning to feel blackness take over. I put a hand on my stomach and pressed down ever so slightly, feeling everything shift inside my skin and bones. Stars started blinking around me and I shook my head, making the lights flee. "That guy, Dean, he's coming too. With one of his friends."

Lane almost laughed, I could feel the beginnings of a vibrate attack. But she stopped herself. "You made a friend, Rory. I'm proud of you." It almost sounded like an insult. "I'll be there. But you better not leave me with his friend."

"I promise. Thanks. I'll text you tomorrow," I whispered, broken.

"See you then."

My body slumped over, everything rumbling and rolling in my head. Clanging, banging, crashing. Beating my brain again and again, tying my belly in knots, smashing my bones to bits. I couldn't think, couldn't feel. I was numb and torn.

My bed felt more like a rock than anything, it hit my head with such force I was afraid my brain would detach from my brain stem. And then I twisted around, trying to find comfort in my sheets as the darkness started to creep up on me. Its shadows, the ones I had come to know and love, captured my eyes and singed my eyelids shut.

There were no more sparkling lights, just death.

Outside my body, I heard knocking. Creaking footsteps. Hushed voices. Quiet moans of elation. Obscene curse words mixing with a wet _slap slap slap_. "Luke." "Lorelai." Growls, moans, more slapping, pinching, fighting, crying.

And then it all stopped.

And then it went truly black.

-O-

_Knock knock knock knock. _

My eyes opened just barely. Everything was fuzzy. The light burned my eyes as it crept through my open curtains. I had no strength to sit up, so I stared at my door through heavy-lidded eyes and waited for whoever was behind it to eventually decide privacy didn't matter and walk inside.

Sure enough, a moment later Lorelai was striding inside like she was queen of the damned. A smile graced her features.

"Honey," she cooed, stepping closer into the room, cornering me in the bed. I shifted away, closing my eyes against her blinding goodness. "I'm going to the store today. Do you need me to get you anything?"

I thought about it, mulling over various things I might need. Some more foundation to cover up the sunken look of my face maybe.

I shook my head 'no.'

"Are you sure? No tampons or anything?"

I shook my head again.

You need body fat to have a period. I had no body fat. I had no period. Did that make me less of a woman? I was only fourteen, though. That alone made me less of a woman. Still, I had lied to Lorelai a year before, saying that 'yes, mother. i got it and it was scary and now i'm fine.'

Every month, I'd steal her pads and tampons. Every month, Lorelai didn't question it. She never opened her mouth about why her daughter seemed to only be getting smaller.

"Okay, well, I'm off now. Luke's at work. He looks forward to meeting your new friend." Lorelai leaned over me and pressed gentle, candy coated lips to my forehead. I went dizzy again.

She closed the door behind her and I forced myself up. My head pounded, my thoughts as cloudy as my vision.

The room spun a few times before I thought it was safe to get up. I grabbed my phone (how amazingly fast did that habit show up?) and sluggishly made my way to the kitchen. The house was silent except for a few strands of music plucking from Luke's radio he kept on during the day. Some old rock station. It calmed me more than I admitted to him back then. Made me feel safe somehow, like he was there with me, holding me up when my feet were too heavy to move.

Food was on my mind.

It was a weird thing, eating. I was so hungry, but the thought of forcing food down my throat made me want to be sick even more.

I did it, though. Every so often, I'd force food down my throat. Disgusting food, like greasy chicken with bread crumbs pressed so thick into the meat it was practically a piece of oddly shaped, fried bread instead of chicken. This morning, I decided on having leftover meatloaf some random nice person gave Lorelai because of all her hard work at the inn she worked so hard at.

I ate it cold. It would put me off food in the future if I remembered how horrible it felt for the cold meat to sliver down my throat and land squarely in my stomach. And this is what happened. The food slid into my stomach and melted in place and then I wanted to vomit. I didn't, though. I needed some strength today if I was to face both Dean and his obnoxious friend.

When my thoughts drifted to the tall boy with the mole on his cheek, I put away the meat loaf and washed my hands vigorously with soap and water before lifting my phone to my aching fingers and typing furiously.

_**Luke's diner at 2:00? **_I pressed send and immediately wished I hadn't. Did I really want to see him? Could my hermit of a body, my shell, could it go out in public with a fairly attractive guy and his asshole friend?

My phone buzzed. I felt a gurgle of something slip up my throat.

_Logan is up for that. I think. Two o'clock to when?_

I rushed through all the times I could think of. Two hours? Was that enough time?

_**4?**_

_Excellent. See you at two, me lady. *dramatic bow*_

I blushed furiously and my tummy did that twisty thing that had nothing to do with food. Or lack thereof. The current time was 12:37. Lorelai had seriously let me sleep in. Which was either a good or bad thing. Good because it meant that all my energy was being stored up for use. Bad because I definitely was close to never waking up.

I had less than two hours to get ready.

I plowed into my room as quickly as I could on practically no energy and found some random clothes. A _Beatles _shirt with the four faces of the band in black and white, and faded blue jeans. Everything' was loose on me, but I liked it that way. Except if I look in a mirror and see how much fatter I appear.

Getting ready never took too long. Ten minutes. Brush hair, teeth. Pretend not to notice that a considerable amount of strands wound up flurrying around like I'd been scalped. I put on a small amount of makeup. Mascara and lipgloss. I pinched my cheeks the way Grandmother taught me at our first family dinner that last Friday.

I looked good. Or okay. Semi-okay. Good enough for Dean. Dead girl walking.

The Killers "On Top" started ringing in my ears and I turned to my phone. Lane.

"Hello?" My voice sounded stronger than it did last night.

"Rory. When we heading to meet this cute guy and his friend?"

I sighed. "Lane, he's not that cute."

There was a giggle and then a cough. "No, he's cute. I've seen him before. You know he's going to Stars Hollow High, right?"

"Yeah. He's looking forward to it."

"Duh, it's a good school. A little rundown, but whatevs. I still need to know when we're going."

"Two until four. That okay?" I wanted it to not be okay. I wanted her to pull me away from this. Something was tugging at me, telling me to not do it.

Lane smiled, Rory could hear it spread across her face. "Sounds absolutely fantastical. I'll meet you there just before two. So we can chat a little before he and his friend show up. Okay?"

"Okay."

She hung up first.

I spent my time between then and one:thirty reading random biology textbooks we had lying around the house. I memorized all I could about human anatomy. Autonomic nervous system, fight or flight, hormones, chromosomes, etcetera.

Then it was one:thirty and I was heading out to meet Lane at the diner before Dean and Logan arrived.

Lane was sitting by the window, sipping coffee I knew she hated but drank only because her mother would in turn hate her for it. She smiled when she saw me and some of the incredible pressure that had built up in my shoulders drifted away.

The door dinged when I went inside and I looked around, waiting for every head to turn and face me. Only Lane and Luke did, though, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Luke waved at me, a bright smile on his face, and I couldn't help but smile back. Then Lane was standing, approaching me with her coffee, a bleak look on her face whenever she'd take a random sip.

"Ugh, I forget every time I drink this how much I hate it. It's like my brain just dies on me and then I repeat," Lane sighed, wrapping an arm around my barely there shoulders and pulling me to her table. We had fifteen minutes until the boys were supposed to show up.

"Ready for school?" She asked, poking a straw through her coffee. I watched the black liquid swirl around and bubble, hot steam rising, hitting the ceiling with force.

I looked at Lane, her eyes nowhere on me. "Uh, yeah. I think. Nervous. You?"

She laughed, out loud. Crows would jump. "Nope. High school? Not exactly looking forward to it."

She was afraid of bullies. Those mean people with knives who danced and snapped their problems away like they were constantly auditioning for and performing West Side Story.

"Sorry, Lane," I said sincerely, reaching out and grabbing her hand. She looked at me with a sad smile and squeezed.

Luke came up to us a moment later, ruining the girly moment by asking if we wanted anything to eat. He looked at me and I told him I'd already eaten that morning. I was relieved when he didn't ask what I'd had. He went away to grab me some coffee and I thanked him with my eyes. He winked back at me.

When my mother moved out here to Stars Hollow, away from the city lights of D.C., she had trouble infiltrating the system. It was a closed off town with gossips and parades and celebrations. People died here and other people cared about it. It wasn't the politically run Washington she was used to. It was the backwards hick town she didn't know actually existed.

Luke was the first person she met. Flat tyre and a baby on her hip seemed to be enough of a cry for help that Luke Danes came out of his home and helped her. She had smiled warmly at him and he had winked in return, his ruffled good looks melting my mother's stone cold heart.

They didn't start dating until I was nine. That was when the thing with my dad finally went away. Then she felt okay getting another man in her life and my life. Luke and her were inseparable. And as much as my mother made me feel worthless at times, I was glad she had chosen Luke. It proved that she wasn't as awful as I tried to tell myself she was.

A hot cup of coffee slammed down at our table when Luke returned. I watched him pour a packet of sugar in it and stir the contents around with a straw. I wished for a moment that I was small enough to see the sugar melting in the boiling liquid.

The door dinged. My heart froze. I stopped breathing, blinking, thinking. He was there, I could feel it. A flash of something unrecognizable wormed its way through my body. Without meaning to, I turned my head and saw him. And his friend. Dean wasn't looking at me, but when my eyes traveled to the shorter blonde, our eyes locked. He wasn't smiling and neither was I, but another one of those jolts passed in my veins. I looked away as quickly as I could.

"Rory Gilmore, there you are." Deans boisterous voice jumped my nerves again and I stood up awkwardly, turning my whole body around and waiting for him to finally get to our table. He and his friend, Logan, pulled out two chairs and sat to my left. Logan was closer to Lane, but he had a perfect view of my face. I saw him watching me out of the corner of my eye. I tried not to blush.

Dean's arm slung around my chair and I jumped forward, avoiding any contact of skin. He didn't seem fazed, just started babbling to Lane about random things that held my attention for no more than two minutes at a time. It was all about school, at Stars Hollow High. Dean was fairly new to the town and didn't know what to expect. Lane filled him in on all the people and gossipy things teenagers did.

Like how some were having sex already. One student was reported being pregnant, her womb being sucked up by some bastard child that didn't know how unlucky it was to be inside this particular person. Lane was unnecessarily cruel to other people, especially when she didn't like them. And this girl was definitely not on Lane's good list.

I ignored my coffee the entire time.

"Rory." My head shot up. Someone had said my name. I'd dozed, my stomach cramping and my head growing cold. "You okay?" It was Dean. He was staring at me with concern in his eyes. Beautiful concern.

I nodded, looking him squarely in the eye. It hurt to do. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just daydreaming."

His eyebrow quirked up. "Oh? What about?"

_Dying, _I wanted to say, but refrained. "Nothing really. School." I replied flippantly, not wanting to divulge on my minds working at the current time. He seemed to take the bait and turn back to Lane.

"So, Rory, Lane and I were talking about some of your middle school mishaps. . ." Dean left the sentence hanging out his mouth, his tongue dipping across his lip.

I glared at Lane. "What mishaps?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Oh, you know. That time you went on a rampage about _Love That Dog _in English because Mrs. Jules didn't 'understand' what the book was about."

"I'd hardly call that a mishap," I defended, carefully watching Dean and his friend watch me out the corner of my eye while staring straight ahead at Lane. "She really didn't get the whole point of the story."

Dean interrupted, "And what would that point be, Rory Gilmore?" He had a habit of calling me by that name. It made me feel special.

My gaze traveled fully to Dean for a second before getting scared and snapping back to Lane. "Well, it's a horribly depressing story. She didn't seem to understand that, so I may have talked a bit about it."

"Mm, but what's the point of the book. Never read it," Dean said.

I looked at him straight on, trying to fight the bubbles fighting their way up my throat. He was an odd sort of handsome. It was there, you could see it. He'd be beautiful when he was older. But now he was young and his voice was changing and he was just growing hair in weird places, so I could call him cute and that was it. He didn't deserve handsome yet.

"Sadness. It's point was sadness. The entire thing was written in poetry, a little boy's story told through the most emotional form of writing. It's a sort of epistolary novel, like _Carrie _or _The Perks of Being A Wallflower. _Diary entries, basically. All depicting a kid's sadness. Mrs. Jules didn't get that."

Dean's face formed a slow smile. It started little, the sides of his lips quivering up, and then grew in slow motion, his mouth getting small creases as his lips went up and up and up. "Wonderful," he said simply. "You're smart, you know that?"

I blushed and shrugged. "I just know how to use big words."

The conversation drifted away from me and I was terribly glad. Logan and I stayed silent as Lane and Dean talked more and more about life and love and loss. My eyes kept flitting to the mute blonde and I started to wonder if maybe he was in fact a mute. But I remembered seeing him talk to people at summer camp, so that thought slashed itself in the wrists.

Two hours faded quicker than I expected it to and Dean said he and Logan had to head out. I nodded and stood up again, less awkwardly but still clutching my shirt like it could somehow save me.

"It was nice meeting you, Lane," Dean smiled. He was always smiling. "And it was wonderful to get to see you, Rory Gilmore." He said wonderful again. Like I was wonderful. Maybe I was wonderful in the beginning, when he used that word too much for his own good.

"Yeah, you too. Thanks for meeting us. We should totally do it again some time." I cringed. When did I say 'totally'? Never, I never said totally. It just slipped out.

Dean didn't seem to notice. His smile only grew as he nodded for me to follow him and Logan out the diner. I gave a sideways glance to Luke who winked and continued serving coffee to a woman who probably chose to ignore the wedding ring on her finger in favor of a tantalizing conversation with Luke Danes.

"So, that was fun," Dean murmured to his friend. Logan, the blonde, said nothing. "It was fun," he said to me, grinning.

I couldn't fight the smile that made its way on to my face. It was painful, the stretching of skin that spent so much time being flat.

"I am told I'm very much fun when I let my guard down," I said with more confidence than I felt.

Dean laughed. "I'll bet. Hey, you and Logan are going to the same school next year. Isn't that interesting?"

My focus landed on the boy in question and I raised an eyebrow. Rich. Of course. Dean didn't sound enthusiastic about it. Logan didn't look back at me.

"That is interesting," I tried to say smoothly. It came out choppy and rehearsed.

"Yeah, he's a Junior, so I guess you won't be seeing too much of each other, but at least you know you've got a friend there."

Dean spoke about Logan like the older boy wasn't there. It made me feel weird, like I was intruding on something intimate and secret. Like I was being told things no one else should know, things that could potentially be the death of the human race.

"Oh. Well, I'll be sure to keep an eye out." I said, knowing I was lying.

"Great!" Dean clapped Logan on the back. Logan stumbled a little bit and I giggled. That earned me a glare, so I stopped immediately, a blush of anger and embarrassment making its way to my neck. "We really have to go, though, Rory Gilmore. I'll text you the minute I get home. Maybe next time we can do this alone."

_Alone, alone, alone. _The words haunted me as I watched tall and not-so-tall-but-much-taller-than-me saunter off into the afternoon. The heat of Northern Virginia swept me up in its frenzy of simmering humidity and I spent the next few seconds reminding myself to breathe.

"He's charming," someone said behind me. Lane.

"Yeah, he kind of is," I replied with a small grin. The pair had left my eyesight, so I turned around and faced Lane.

"Friend really is an asshole, though."

"They've known each other forever. I bet he cuts him some slack."

"Hey, kind of like you and me!" Lane exclaimed, her glasses pinching at the bridge of her nose when she smiled.

I pushed my head down and then up in agreement and shivered when Lane grabbed my hand. We started walking away from Luke's.

-O-

"How was it, sweetie?"

"Good."

"You had fun?"

"Of course."

"When do I get to meet him?"

"I don't know. Would you want to?"

"Might be nice to meet the young man who's got my daughter's attention."

"I'll talk to him about it."

"Great."

"Okay."

-O-

_**My mother wants to meet you. . .**_

_What?_

_**You blind?**_

_She wants to meet me?_

_**Seriously, are you blind?**_

_When?_

_**I don't know. When are you free?**_

_Um. . .Tomorrow's Monday. Maybe tomorrow?_

_**Tomorrow?**_

_Tomorrow._

My heart thudded and thudded. A coldness swept over me as sweat trickled through my pores. Dean wanted to meet my mother tomorrow. I couldn't do that. But Lorelai said she wanted, so Lorelai would get.

"Mom!" I cried out weakly, my feet tired from standing, my eyes worn from reading, my heart heavy from feeling.

Lorelai padded into my room, opening the door quickly. "What is it, darling?"

I didn't want to say it, at all. Everything screamed at me, saying 'don't do it!' So I did it. "Tomorrow? Dean?" I wanted to crawl away underneath my bed and live there forever.

"Tomorrow. Dean." She agreed. She turned around and walked off, the door slamming behind her and sending electric shocks through my weak and trembling body.

_**Tomorrow.**_

_Awesome. When?_

_**Just, whenever you want.**_

_You sound upset._

_**You can't hear me.**_

_But I can feel you._

_**Because that's not creepy.**_

_Are you upset?_

_**Not really. Just tired.**_

_But you're kind of upset?_

_**I'm tired. Maybe that's it.**_

_You should go to bed._

_**Can't. I have to read this book.**_

_What book?_

_**Looking for Alaska.**_

_What's it about?_

_**We were definitely just talking about you coming over tomorrow. To meet my mom.**_

_Right, how about midday? _

_**Noon?**_

_Twelve in the afternoon?_

_**Not Nine in the Afternoon?**_

_What?_

_**Do you not get that reference?**_

_Nope. . ._

_**Shame. Can you feel me now?**_

_Uh. . ._

_**That sounded weird, sorry.**_

_Ha, no. It's fine. What's the reference?_

_**It's a song.**_

_What song?_

_**Nine in the Afternoon.**_

_What's the song about?_

_**I've absolutely no idea. **_

That night I went to bed with an aching stomach and an aching heart. Sleep wasn't kind enough to meet me. I tossed and I turned again, feeling closer than ever to dying.

* * *

><p><strong>"And I'm so sorry, but not really.<strong>

**Tell the boys where to find my body.**

**New York eyes, Chicago thighs,**

**Pushed up the window to kiss you off.**

**The truth hurts worse **

**than anything I could bring myself to do**

**to you."**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Straight off the bat, I just want to thank you all if you're enjoying this. It's a bit weird, I understand. And it might not seem to be going anywhere, but I'm positive it'll pick up the pace soon. You just have to trust me and my hopefully okay writing skills.

What did you think? Be honest. I need some sort of feedback from you guys with this one more so than my other Rogan ventures. This is a delicate tale that needs guidance from the audience. There's a scene early on that may sound like Luke's beating Lorelai, but if you reread it, you might understand that that is not what's going on. Promise.

I know Logan and Rory don't seem to be hitting it off quite yet, and there's a reason. You just have to wait and see what I have in store for them. I'm planning on keeping the chapters relatively short (between three and six thousand words) because of how quickly everything needs to be moving. So, updates should happen quicker! Yay!

Fall Out Boy helped me a lot with this story, so their songs will be used at the end and beginning of each chapter. If you've never listened to them before, just, save your soul and give it a try. A good first listen would probably be "Grand Theft Autumn/Where is Your Boy" from their debut album. That was their first major hit.

Next chapter will be Dean meeting Lorelai and Luke and the starting of school. Oh, also, Richard and Emily will have a bit to do with this tale, but it's mostly a focus on Rory and Dean and Logan. Just for your information.

Thank you all again. You're amazing!

Until next time,

(insert name here)


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